


take your caution or take your chances

by ideare



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Gen, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideare/pseuds/ideare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time the sky had been this colour, thunder had rolled through the town and lightning had danced neon bright against the clouds, but there had been no rain. </p><p>Come to think of it, that was the day that Mark had arrived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take your caution or take your chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baexil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baexil/gifts).



> title from [dial tones](https://youtu.be/XyBV4yoEZ6A) by as it is.

The sky has been an aggressive shade of murky blue all day. Jinyoung is still sure it won't rain though. The last time the sky had been this colour, thunder had rolled through the town and lightning had danced neon bright against the clouds, but there had been no rain. 

Come to think of it, that was the day that Mark had arrived.

Mark came into town like a cold wind on a humid day. In turn, the townspeople had shivered, however momentarily, out of character before doubling down and aggressively returning to what they deemed normal.

Some people, Jinyoung included, had been thrown out of their static loops permanently. Unbeknownst to them at the time. 

 

 

"That kid is dangerous," his mother warns him as her new sterling kitchen knife slides effortlessly through the loaf of bread on her chopping board. She glares out their window the whole while, towards their back garden where the trees thin out pass the scrubs and the railway lines curve with the landscape. 

Jinyoung can't see what she's glaring at, but he's heard that there is a new kid that has moved into the old Hummingbird Mansion across the way. If Jackson's information was to be taken at face-value — which it rarely should be — this new kid, Mark, had the face of a god and the body to match. Jinyoung has been wanting to meet him ever since even Youngjae had been gushing in reverence about him. How his mother had managed to meet Mark before Jinyoung is beyond him, but not something he is all-together shocked by. 

"You stay away from him, d'you hear?" Jinyoung's mother cuts her glare to him like she knows exactly what he's thinking. 

Jinyoung lets his eyes slide away from hers as he gives a vague bob of his head. He pushes the block of cheese and head of cabbage closer to her chopping board but doesn't answer.

 

 

Everything is still as Jinyoung trudges beside Youngjae through the mulch and shadows of the trees. His polo shirt feels overly formal, even though Youngjae is wearing a full-on shirt, the sleeves carefully folded up to his elbows. Jackson, in all black despite the humidity and heat, is leading the way to Hummingbird Mansion, even though he lives closer to the town centre and hardly knows how to use a compass. Yet, somehow in the past two trips he has taken to visit Mark, he has memorized the trail. 

"You know, when parents tell us to stay away from someone, they really want us to make friends with them." Jackson pushes lazily against a low branch that snaps back to splash Jinyoung with dew. "They want us to challenge their pre-conceived notions of new, strange, and exciting people that they don't understand in the hopes that we can one day shatter such actions into ones of acceptance and peace."

Jackson has a way of interpreting whatever people say into positive reinforcement. Jinyoung thinks it's a good trait to have, especially when they all grow up and move on.

Youngjae takes out the handkerchief in his shirt pocket and dabs at his forehead where stray droplets from Jackson's branch glitter by his hairline and on the bridge of his nose.

"Normally, I'm not one to agree with Jackson, but in this case he has a point." Youngjae waves his hand lazily when Jackson looks back at him, eyes wide like he's just been praised. "Not about the hidden meanings of what parents say to us," Jackson turns back around with a huff, "but your mother did think I would lead you astray. Remember, when we first met? Me! Of all people!" Youngjae folds his handkerchief neatly and returns it to his pocket. A hint of pride ripples under his insulted expression.

Jinyoung has a canteen held loosely between his fingers, every step has the water inside splashing hollowly against the metal body. He doesn't mention how his mother has a way of looking into people, of seeing all that they could become. Or how she can read someone's emotions like tea leaves settling at the bottom of a cup. 

He doesn't say any of this. Instead, he walks on, slow and steady, and throws out, "We really don't have enough water to be talking this much."

They continue on in relative silence, Jackson exaggerating his movements so that every step he takes is amplified throughout the area.

 

 

For all its title, Hummingbird Mansion actually isn't. The whole thing lays snug below a crescent hill, where it is more a collection of houses pressed close, invading each others space, connected by corridors of various sizes and winding staircases that leave you dizzy just looking at them. Jinyoung has vague memories of the mansion from the few times he rode the train out to his grandparents' house in the next town over. He remembers being impressed that there seemed to be a whole other village in the middle of his little town. 

Jinyoung frowns as he stands with Youngjae and Jackson at the top of the hill. "And we get down, how?" He asks, turning his head to shoot questioning glances at both boys. 

Youngjae pushes his rolled up sleeves further up his arms, the thin cotton shirt wrinkling even more. "There are stairs." He nods towards a roll of grass that curls outwards like wilting flowers. Jinyoung looks sceptical, but follows after him, with Jackson bringing up the rear. 

"You know, when you see him, you're probably gonna need all that water you wouldn't let us drink." 

Jinyoung ignores Jackson and steps out after Youngjae. His foot lands on rough stone, the centre worn smooth by years of footsteps. So there really are steps! It amazes him that some long time ago, someone had seen it fit to embed stone steps spiralling down the inner side of the hill, camouflaged until you stepped down. 

Youngjae makes quick work of the steps, but as much as Jinyoung trusts him, he can't move as quickly when all he's relying on is the hope and ambition of Youngjae. Jackson makes a big show of how slow Jinyoung is going, but doesn't urge him on in anyway, letting him take his time instead.

At the bottom, the ground feels bouncy after all those hard steps. It's as if they've literally stepped into another world.

Jackson sprints past Jinyoung and disappears into the maze of the mansion. Jinyoung and Youngjae shake their heads simultaneously, on both the action is a mix of amusement and resignation; there really is no hope of slowing Jackson down when he has his mind set on something.

"Come on," Youngjae's fingers graze Jinyoung's arm as he begins to move away, "Mark said he'd meet us at the West Tower."

The West Tower looms over the rest of the buildings, a respectable seven stories. It honestly looks more like a crooked block of flats than a tower: the base is squat, the stones a light shade of grey, almost white, while the building tapers inwards as it rises. The top of the tower looks like a gazebo perched on top of a childish imitation of a house, the same light stones as the base have been darkened by weather and age.

As they draw closer to the tower, Jinyoung idly wonders if whoever built it had received permission from the council. Then he figures, the council probably didn't even exist when the thing was built, and historical landmarks (even unknown ones) trump pretty much every recent regulation. 

The doors are propped open by hooks that anchor through tiny metal hoops drilled through the side of the walls. Despite how big the tower is on the outside, the entrance is narrow, with the stairs twisting sharply upwards directly in front of the door. There are doors that darken the immediate area, but they're all closed. The main light source comes from the very top of the tower, where the gazebo sits. The light trickles down, diffusing into a soft, hazy glow at the bottom of the stairs, merging in a thin strip with the light from the doorway. 

"It's kind of creepy, isn't it?" Jinyoung speaks softly, but his voice is thrown back at him in an eerie echo. Despite the humidity, Jinyoung is beginning to wish he had brought a cardigan or light jacket as goose bumps prickle his arms.

Youngjae's grin is half lost in the shadows. "It's way cooler at the top. Come on!" He takes the stairs two at a time, his shoes ringing out a wordless song as he races upwards.

Jinyoung takes a step forward, and pauses. He takes a deep breath, steadying his nerves, before plunging after Youngjae.

 

 

Youngjae is right. It is both figuratively and literally cooler at the top of the tower. The high walls look like the side of a gear, dipping up and down every so often to allow for a view of the surrounding area. The tip of the gazebo is hollow, and is somehow pulling what little cold air is in the sky down into the sheltered area. 

Jinyoung didn't dare look down as he made his way up, focusing instead on the next step in front of him, but once at the top he peeks below him and is marvelled by how the gangways to the different floors crisscross each other like the frenzied tracing of a spirograph. 

He moves away from the stairs and heads to where a huddle of beanbags rest against a curved wall. This is where Youngjae is, as well as Jackson and someone who can so obviously only be Mark. Jinyoung has to shake his head to make sure that the hum emanating from Mark isn't something he's imagining. And it must not be, because it remains like a fly, persistent and pesky. He walks closer to the trio, his eyes constantly flitting back towards Mark. How someone can sit so poised on a beanbag is beyond him, but Mark manages to do just that.

"Oh!" Jackson gets up from his beanbag in one smooth motion and drags Jinyoung closer to Mark. "This is Jinyoung! He's the one I was telling you about!"

"Hi," Mark says as he looks up from his Rubik cube. His gaze is cool and distant at first, not quite seeing the people in front of him. Despite that though, he looks younger than Jinyoung, and Jinyoung panics for a heartbeat as he tries to remember if Jackson had ever mentioned an age in all his spiels about Mark.

Mark blinks slowly, his eyes darting to Jackson and then to Jinyoung, like a camera adjusting its focus. His eyes never quite meet Jinyoung's, always looking slightly past him, or focusing somewhere in the centre of Jinyoung's face, his fingers constantly working ever more complex shapes into the Rubik cube. 

Then he grins, his canines sharpening his soft face and slightly lost expression into something sharp and dangerous. "I've heard a _lot_ about you. I can tell we're gonna be real good friends."

It feels more like a dare than a promise, and Jinyoung accepts the temptation easily, welcomes it almost.

 

 

Jinyoung stumbles into his house like a newborn foal finding its legs, a wave of guilt comes crashing through with him, draping over the house — a hot blanket on a humid night. There isn't much he can do about it though; his mother looks over at him from where she's seated on the settee, faded receipts in one hand and a pencil in the other.

Her smile stutters on her face, her soft gaze turning distant, filled with worry and sadness, not the anger that Jinyoung had expected to be faced with. She knows he's seen Mark. And she can see his future more and more shadowed as he edges away from her, making a wide berth to the staircase and his room. Years of unwritten arguments scribble through her head, escalating until they are simply too big to get over. 

Even from twelve feet above, Jinyoung can feel his mother's sigh thrum through his bones, an _I told you so_ that she never wanted to be right about.


End file.
